


Slow  Recovery

by zzoaozz



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzoaozz/pseuds/zzoaozz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warren asks Hank to help his seriously ill father.   When he arrives he realized the senior Worthington is not the only one who needs him.   It is a dark time for the X-Men, Xavier's dream is faltering.  Can Warren pull himself out of his own troubles enough to bring that dream back to alive,  does he even believe in it himself anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow  Recovery

Hank rose from the stool and stretched smothering a yawn behind and oversized hand crammed into latex gloves. One size fits all simply did not apply when your hands were larger than an average size man's head. He should have brought his own special ordered gloves from the med center, but Warren's call had been urgent and he had not wanted to take the time to go back before catching the private plane waiting to ferry him to the Worthington's estate in Wales. He stripped the torturous devices off and dropped them neatly into the waste bin shaking the talcum powder from his fur. He was tired, but it was a good tired, the one reserved for those times when he knew his patient was out of the danger zone, times when he was certain death's advances had been firmly rebuffed. There was a soft beep and a hiss from the bed as the automatic blood pressure cuff activated. He looked up above the comfortable looking bed to the readout panel that a troop of nearly silent techs had installed in the time it took him to install three stents and a Paracor Heartnet and bring the patient back up from the fully equipped working lab in the sub-basement of the ancient keep. 

The heartnet was still an experimental thing, a mesh bag that fit snugly over the heart and kept it compressed. Like any muscle, the heart tended to sag and lose tone with age. His oxygen levels were back up, his temperature was good, his color slowly returning. The man was in his late sixties and in good shape, trim and fit and muscular. His square jaw and straight nose and almost model handsome face looked so much like his son's that there was no way either of the men could deny their heritage. His hair was a warm oak brown just touched with grey to Warren's honey blond and his eyes brown to his son's blue but every bit as intelligent and commanding. It was hard to reconcile the man who had calmly told him his heart was failing and he was the only surgeon his son trusted to perform the surgery with the man who had ostracized his only son because he had been born with wings and tried to 'cure' him and all mutants as if they were some sort of disease to be eradicated. People changed though, and the two Warren's had finally laid aside the past and all its scars and half healed wounds and discovered that they were not as far apart as they thought and that if they both gave a little ground they could actually meet in the middle. He washed his hands in the lavish bathroom and opened the doorway onto a long hall. At the nearer end his friend and teammate was staring out a tall arched window.

The setting sun painted his snowy wings in scarlet and gold and turned his long, tousled hair into a halo around his head and shoulders. His face was cast into shadow, but Hank knew from years of experience in reading his companion every nuance of his posture from the rigidity of his back to the restless shifting of his wings that the younger man was worried and stressed out. His angelic face could and would lie as easily as breathing. The warm and playful smile he could turn on for the cameras was as fake as the silk tulips in a cloisonne vase by his elbow, but his wings reflected every thought and feeling even when his eyes were as empty and unfeeling as a statue. He had thought many times about what a cold and lonely world his friend must have grown up in to teach him to hide everything personal under such flawless masks. He reached out and dropped his hand on a warm cotton clad shoulder. 

Angel turned to face him, "is he- okay?" 

His voice was neutral and Hank doubted anyone else would have heard the edge under the smooth baritone. "He is stable now, he came through the surgery just fine. There is still some risk of rejection and of course the usual risk of post operative infection, but he is strong and healthy other than the deterioration of the heart. His cholesterol is even good. We did everything right and it went by the book. For what it is worth, every doctor's instinct in me is saying that it’s a good job and everything is going to be fine." 

Angel took a deep breath and sagged forward capturing him in a sudden hard hug, "thank you Hank. I knew if anyone could help, it would be you. Thank you for coming. I had no right tearing you away from your work like that. I owe you more than I can say."

He wrapped his arms around him hugging back, "you have the right to ask me for anything at all that is within my power to give anytime, anywhere. With or without the X-Men, we're friends, more than that, brothers, comrades. Besides, you have given selflessly of yourself so many times and been there when I needed you. How could I do anything less than the same, my winged friend?" The big wings trembled then folded down close to his back trapping his arms with fine bones and feathers that shivered against him. He had been expecting this, it was common. His father had almost died and now that the shock was wearing off the fear was rushing in to fill the places that had been numb. He held him closer letting him bury his face in the fur at his neck and stroked his back gently. "I'm here Warren, I have you. It's okay now." 

"I'm sorry," came the muffled reply from somewhere just under his right ear. 

"For loving your father, for calling on someone you trust? I don't see anything at all to be sorry for in that. Now, getting tears in my nice clean fur- that's another matter entirely." He smiled at the shaky laugh. "Ah, now that's better. You have a very charming laugh when you aren't faking it for your adoring public."

"And you have a marvelous bedside manner, Doctor McCoy." He straightened up and the wings relaxed and lifted. "I appreciate your coming here so quickly. I'm glad you're here for dad's sake and my own."

"Your sake?" He studied the handsome face intently looking for clues to his state of mind. "What are you not telling me?" 

"Nothing, really, no need to be suspicious. I just missed you as corny as it sounds, Bobs too. I miss the way it used to be, in the beginning when we made a difference. I'm just waxing nostalgic I guess. Getting maudlin in my old age."

He snorted, "Old age? If thirty eight is old, I must be positively ancient." 

Angel laughed and ruffled his hair. "You are old, man, is that grey in your fur?" 

"Absolutely not!" he feigned outrage. "Miss Clairol says I never have to go grey." He sniffed. 

"And only your hairdresser will know." 

"Exactly," he smiled and pushed back a stray curl falling over Warren's forehead. "Now, where in this impressive structure might a weary physician get a cup of tea?"

"This little cottage?" He chuckled, "follow me, I know a shortcut. I'll get you a cup of tea and a seven course dinner if you are hungry. Heck, I'll serve you dinner myself on a silver platter while a big Swede named Olga gives you a back massage that could soften granite boulders."

He grinned again fangs flashing for a moment in the light of a wall sconce, "a man could get spoiled fairly quickly around here. You don't happen to need a personal family physician and resident mad scientist do you?" 

"The position is yours anytime you want it, Hank, really." 

"I might take you up on it. God knows I've spent a lot of nights lately wondering just when and where I lost my faith in Charles' dream." 

"He would be heartbroken to know how we let him down. Emma has turned the school into a militant political entity, there is hardly anyone left on the team who believes in the dream and the ones that do have lost faith in it."

Their footsteps echoed down the corridor as their shadows stretched along the wall. "We should do something about it." 

"What could the two of us do alone?" 

"There are others that feel the same." 

"Yes?" 

"Wolverine has been hinting around, in as much as he hints at anything, that should someone come along who could lead the team in Scott's place, someone with enough charisma and command, that he would set aside any personal differences he might have with that person and join him in overthrowing the Ice Bitch as he has nicknamed Miss Frost."

"Well, compared to that Wings and Blue aren't so bad as far as nicknames go, are they? What leader did he have in mind?" 

"I only know one other man with that kind of natural leadership ability, you." 

"Me? I don't think so. I'm no kind of leader." 

"You sell yourself short, which is strange in one of the foremost corporate leaders in the world. You snap your fingers and multi-million dollar conglomerates jump. You managed to keep not only the Wolverine but an uncollared Sabretooth in line at the same time on a seriously stressful mission." 

"Seriously stressful, that's McCoy for a living hell of a nightmare disaster, right?" 

"Precisely." 

"I thought so. I can't see Wolverine following me anywhere." 

"Yet he as much as said he would, unless you doubt my words." 

"Never." 

Hank relaxed at the simple sincerity in the reply. "Good because I believe it would break my heart if you lost your faith in me." He blinked at the warm smile that was suddenly aimed at him. 

"So, who else do you think might be willing to sign up for our little revolution if we decided to pull one?" 

"Kurt misses the old team too and disagrees with the way the children are being taught. So do Kitty and Pete and they are still on the inside working to keep her venom from poisoning the children. I would like to think Ororo would approve, since Charles and the team meant so much to her. Gambit comes skulking around often enough too, primarily to complain about the state of things."

"Bobby?" 

"Robert would follow you to the end of the earth." 

"He's always been a good friend to both of us." 

"You're like the brother he had before his powers began to manifest, a brother that did not reject him like his biological family did; and I am his protector and confidant, a surrogate father of sorts. He has a new ally now that he has left the team as well, one that might prove useful to us as well. He is going back to school for his masters by day and aiding Spiderman by night."

"Do you know who he is, Spiderman that is?"

"Yes actually I do." 

"Good. Parker needs all the friends he can get right now. He has a very powerful enemy in Osbourne." 

"As in Osbourne Industries?"

"Yes, exactly. They have a lot of military contracts that no one is allowed to look at too closely, and they ask a lot of questions about genetics and cellular manipulation that make my pet scientists at W.E. a little nervous."

"I see and how did you happen to discover his identity?" 

"He isn't the only one who needs to change clothes in a hurry and finds the rooftops a convenient place to do so." 

"I can see the paparazzi getting hold of that shot, 'multimillionaire and wallcrawler make New York their personal dressing room, exclusive nude photos inside'. It would sell out in the first hour." 

Angel laughed softly as they entered the kitchen. A full staff hustled about doing who knew what with a quiet efficiency that simply astounded him. He arranged a liquid diet for the Worthington Patriarch as soon as he was awake and felt up to it, then enjoyed a gourmet dinner fit for a king. When they finished Warren asked him if he could visit his father a while. Before going, he settled Hank into a room big enough for a family of three with a huge four poster bed and rich, heavy chestnut furniture. He undressed and lay down on the huge bed just meaning to rest a moment, but the hum of the strange house around him and the steady crashing of the sea below blended together and allowed his exhaustion the foothold it needed to pull him down into sleep. 

He woke some time later to a hand on his shoulder shaking him lightly. His training kicked in and he was sitting up and groping for his glasses almost before his eyes opened. "Mm, yeah, what?" He blinked owlishly as the world swam into focus. 

"The nurse said his fever is up, she said it was normal, but you said he might reject the implant or get an infection, can you check?" Warren's words tumbled over each other, but he got the gist of them and nodded following without hesitation. 

"I told Master Worthington that the fever is not excessive and is most likely a normal post-op fluctuation." The night nurse was an older, very stout, no nonsense lady.

"That is true, my friend. A fever is quite normal as the body begins to heal itself, but I will run some scans and look for anything out of place." 

"Thanks Hank, for indulging me." 

He chuckled softly as the nurse shot them both a disgusted look then went back rather pointedly to working on her own paperwork. Half an hour later, he was sitting in an overstuffed arm chair having another cup with Warren perched on the arm beside him apologizing for dragging him out of bed for nothing. The scans had been as normal as could be expected and the heart scans better than they had been in some time. Angel had gone from anxious and worried to feeling guilty for waking him up when he was already exhausted. 

"Honestly, Angel, I am used to it. Relax. In fact, you look like you could use a little something to help you sleep yourself. You have dark circles under your eyes. I can give you something light, maybe Lunesta or Ambien. I wouldn't go any stronger with your low body mass, but either one of those should knock you out for a few hours of deep sleep."

"No thanks, I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me. I'll sleep fine knowing you're here and dad will be okay."

He lifted the wrist closest to him finding his pulse without looking and turning it so he could watch the second hand sweep around the somber face of his gold Rolex.

As he suspected it was faster than normal. He was fairly sure that he would find his friend's blood pressure was up as well if he could talk him into letting him check. 

"See, I'm alive, Doc, heart beating, lungs working, all that good stuff." Angel's voice was light and teasing and he did not buy it for a moment. 

"You have exactly two choices my old friend. Which will it be, Door A or Door B?" 

"What's behind Door A?"

"An Ambien and a full night's sleep followed by a full physical tomorrow morning." 

"And Door B?" 

"A furry blue mutant tucking you into bed and watching you until you fall asleep followed by a long heart to heart tomorrow morning." 

"Ah well then, I suppose I would prefer Door B. Maybe I need Door B."

"I thought that might the case, my friend. Where is your room?" 

"Here." He flashed a smile at Hank's surprise. "I wanted to make you feel at home. The guest rooms are nice of course, but just guestrooms."

"Your thoughtfulness is appreciated. I am not, however, going to tuck you into some impersonal guest room. Your bed is extremely comfortable, I can attest to that fact. That couch is big enough for two of me and more comfortable looking than the cot in the med center. I'll sleep there."

"You don't have to Hank. The bed is big enough for both of us and how many times have we huddled together in much worse surroundings to catch a few minutes rest between battles." 

"Good point." 

He watched Warren as he rose and stripped down to his underwear cataloguing the changes he could see, the hollowness at the hips, the paleness of skin that had always been sun bronzed to a deep tan, the gauntness of the ribs that made the inhuman musculature that supported his wings stand out dramatically, the tightness of his compressed lips, the starkness of his cheekbones, the dark circles he had pointed out before, and the hard clench of the stubborn jaw. Warren was neither eating nor sleeping properly and he was wearing himself away to nothing. He was also not flying judging from the paleness. He flew shirtless when not in his uniform, and Hank had seen him on no few occasions flying completely nude when he thought no one else was around. That needed to change and quickly. It would take a few weeks to be sure Father was going to be fine and he would have plenty of spare time to make sure that Son got the care he needed as well whether he liked it or not. 

He rose and shrugged out of his own lab coat. He had not bothered redressing when Warren had awakened him so he wore only his boxers under the coat. Angel turned the covers back on both sides smoothing out the rumpled blankets from where he had fallen asleep on top of them earlier. He slid into bed rolling over on his left side and letting his wings settle together at his back in a long, teardrop shaped sweep of white. He took the right side of the bed hearing the springs creak just a little at his weight. It was a good solid brass bed though and did not groan and pop like the cheap pressboard furniture they made today usually did. He sighed as the fluffy pillow cupped his head and the soft mattress invited him down into the dark, sweetly peaceful depths of sleep. He would not give in though, until he was sure Warren had drifted off. After a few moments he felt Warren slide over against him and press his face into the thinner fur on his back between his shoulder blades. He needed comfort, he did not need the PhD he happened to have to tell that. He rolled over and pulled him into a hug before he could protest and after a moment Angel relaxed against him trembling for just a moment before closing his eyes with a whispered thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> The Parcor Heartnet is a real medical invention with the potential to save many lives. I did not make that up.


End file.
